Feral
by Smashbox7
Summary: Centuries ago, Hell was abandoned, and the demons found Earth. Castiel cherishes the new world, but his lesser, more greedy brothers have decided to make it their own. He's thrown into slavery and sold to serve a new wealthy Master. He knows that escaping that fate means entering the throes of humanity. And humanity is not feral. It's incredibly beautiful. (Au. Destiel.)
1. Prologue

**(Warnings: some violence, sexual references and encounters, harsh language, mentions of slavery, and the twisted use of Supernatural characters for my own writing pleasures. I consider all characters, any season, free game. This is AU and Destiel-centric.)**

**(Obviously, I don't own Supernatural.)**

X.

**Prologue**

A bodyguard, Gadreel, waits just past the doors to the Rogue Cells, inside the infamous Caging Grounds. The Grounds hold all types, from feral humans and demons, to domestically bred servants. The building's sole purpose is to house slaves, creatures who will be sold to the highest bidder when their time comes. He tries to keep his face slack, uninterested, as he mildly inspects the chained, angry creatures littered throughout the room while he waits for his charge to arrive. He's one of many personal body guards. It's Auction Day, and only the wealthiest demons of the city have come to bid.

He's never been in this section. Never been past the calamity of the domestic Birthing Units, where he, himself, was born and hand picked to serve as a guard to the wealthy daughter of the Caroline house after they both reached full maturation. That time had come several years ago.

His eyes follow the line of bonded captives, pausing appreciatively on each one in turn. They are demons, like himself, but First-Born. They are the oldest, most powerful demons Hell had ever produced, though their strength in this world is materialized only through prettier faces and sharper senses.

The guard knows little about their original purpose. He only knows the stories he was initially taught about them by Tessa, the she-demon who raised him and provided his training. She told him the First-Born are the first of Hell's occupants to have breached the borders of the new world. They manifested into their new found bodies, saw Earth's beauty as something to be cherished, and wandered to the separate corners of each hemisphere. Their younger, more ambiguous brothers followed along behind them reluctantly. _They_, however, could not see Earth's beauty. It was only a sphere with an abundance of pleasures to be plundered. Humanity was something to control.

The guard hates to recall these lessons. He is, in fact, a product of the new world –his existence only possible from the squandering of human virility. To think that his ancestry might be tainted by such ideas of greed ails him.

The rogue closest to his position shifts subtly, dragging the guard's attention back to the present. He had been chosen to serve as a body guard for his slightly larger size, but as he sees the rank cells holding the First-Born –_rogues_– he has to choke down his disbelieving gasp.

They are no larger than he is, but their bodies seem to excrete a thick, powerful energy that radiates from something much deeper than physical strength. Their wings, which are merely a somatic interpretation of a demon's inner soul, are near double the length of the guard's own.

Mostly, though, the rogues are exotically beautiful. He's never seen intelligent creatures of such colors, outside the diversity of humanity. The one nearest him is red-haired, with flushed wings that almost resemble the embers of a freshly stoked fire. The next one is fair-haired, his wings like wheat.

On the end, nearly separated further from the others, is a dark rogue unlike the rest. His skin is sun-kissed golden. His vast, forcibly splayed wings are shiny like silk. Both his head and his feathers are midnight black.

He is... quite breath-taking. Even the guard, who ultimately prefers the soft skin and smooth curves of females, can appreciate the strength radiating from the First-Born. The creature's nostrils flare repeatedly with the heavy strokes of anger. His arms flex under the strain of his bonds. His head is held exceptionally high compared to the others.

Gadreel swallows and glances to the other sentinels to witness their reactions. Most wear the same looks of disbelief as himself, but the others appear stoic; bored, even. He assumes they've been to these auctions several times before. They've already seen their fair share of rogues, and are no longer struck by their beauty.

"Isn't it sort of sad that these guys were once the first leaders of Hell, and now they're being auctioned off like antique furniture?" The escort beside him asks quietly. His eyes obediently remain on the prisoners in front of them as he speaks. "I overheard my Keeper talking to Metatron. I guess most of them are sold as bed slaves."

Gadreel glances askance at him. "They're angry and unpredictable. Who would want a wild animal in their bed?"

The escort smiles slyly, and this time he does turn to look at the other guard. "Women who like to destroy those stronger than them, and men who like to be dominated, that's who. The domestic slaves are far too docile, and human slaves are stubborn and too easily broken." His smile curls up almost cruelly. "My Master likes to be legitimately held down when he gets fucked."

Gadreel startles with shock at the brash words. His face must show his surprise because the escort simply snorts and turns away. Gadreel can't believe a guard would speak so disrespectfully about his Keeper.

It's nearly forbidden.

There's a silent announcement for the auction to begin and the room is quickly filled with wealthy bidders. The sentinels part through the growing crowd to find their charges, and Gadreel finds Hannah Caroline amongst the throng, followed about by her less than grateful brother.

Hannah waits patiently for Gadreel to join them before taking her designated seat in the front rows. Gadreel stands obediently behind his Keeper and her kin, and takes a fast moment to examine the back of Hannah's head. She has never been power hungry, nor did she seem like the type to desire a shattered lover. Gadreel has no idea why she would want to come here today.

X.

Castiel still remembers the first time he saw this world. Two centuries ago, he and his first demon brothers crawled out of the wastelands, crossing the Styx and passing through Limbo. They dug upward through the pliable soil and saw the first tendrils of sunlight. The star's shine had warmed the fresh, raw skin of their faces, and they'd known immediately they could never go back.

He can't remember what possessed them to do so. He had heard his kindred sing songs about the creatures, _humans_, and their interpretation of the world created solely for them, but it had seemed unattainable then. Castiel's imagination of colors and light were far too overwhelming to comprehend, and the reality ended up being much more consuming than the fantasy.

He can no longer recall the entire journey; the bland memories are dislodged by his birth onto nature. He does, however, distinctly remember finding his hands first, inspecting his new golden skin and playfully petting the nails at his finger tips. A creature –a bird– had lifted gracelessly from the trees above him, and at the sight of it, his fresh wings had given a jolt of excitement that paralleled the quickening of his heart beat.

There had been a strange feeling of something, though he saw nothing, gracing along the slopes of his foreign embodiment. He learned later that it's called 'wind.'

His next awareness had been of Earth's scent. It was an entirely new sensation for a demon. Hell has no balm or odor. Existence there is a simple plane, and their senses are reduced to only two: dulled sound, and a limited portrayal of sight. Castiel had been delighted that he could trail each unique, exotic scent to its source in this world, from the bark of the trees to the cool stones of the river banks.

He'd spent those first years moving about the woods, eyes roaming amongst all that he could find, his fingers quickly learning which items are pleasant to touch and which are painful to his nerves. The first time it rained, Castiel had stood beneath it, letting each drop tickle his skin and slide down the dips of his waist. He slowly trailed the water's path with curious warm palms, the tips of his fingers caressing the soft skin and sending a tingle up his spine. He then discovered his sex. It had been... exhilarating.

With time, though, Castiel grudgingly learned that being Earth-bound made him more like the humans. His stomach needs to be filled with food near constantly, and the waste has to be departed at a later time. Water is essential to life. If Castiel goes too long without it, his muscles bind and cramp. Age is a viable limit now, in both mentality and physicality. Though he ages impossibly slow, immortality is no longer an option.

Castiel wants to scoff at the thought of his own naivety upon his arrival to Earth. He'd been gullible, distracted by Earth's intimate beauty, and he'd neglected his brothers, leaving them to their own fates. With the abandonment of their elder brothers and chaos beginning to acclimate in Hell, the lesser demons, too, decided to follow the acclivity leading to Earth. It's Castiel's greatest regret.

His brothers became greedy, and the humans became resistant. There were numerous battles for control of the surrounding lands. Almost all of the human's vast cities were either overrun by Castiel's brotherhood or left to crumble. All of the humans that remained alive migrated to the feral forests in small groups, _packs,_ to establish villages in some of the more remote areas. Castiel's kind then took over most of their stone cities, living in massive groups of their own, _pods,_ with a developing system of laws and currency. A luxurious boredom swept over the pods, and that's when they began forcing others to servitude.

Castiel has known about this for quite some time. Samandriel, another First-Born who became a close companion and a fond lover of Castiel's, was the first to inform him of it. He said that their lesser brothers were hunting down humans and forcing slavery on them. The humans were stubborn and tough to handle, though, so they decided to breed the creatures instead, and train the spawn to heed obedience. When the thrill of that was lost, they found their very first First-Born. They saw how different they were in looks and size. _We are no longer their betters_, he said, _we are naught but wild animals to capture and ultimately tame_.

How very right Samandriel had been. Castiel's wrists are currently bound to chains, as well as his ankles. The links are clipped immediately to the wall. The outer vanes of his wings are pierced through completely by something cold and metal. It splays them in a dramatic viewing for possible 'bidders.'

A Grounds servant feeds him something foul smelling with each meal, and he only takes it willingly because he'd witnessed what will happen if he doesn't. It dulls the outer world to him, like a drug, making his vision blur and his hearing nearly mute. The drugs leave him trapped in his own mind for hours.

From a distance he thinks he hears voices. They resonate with the concrete walls but meld together in an unrecognizable buzz. It's been hours since he'd last been administered the drug, and its effects wane dramatically. He pushes his head up off his chest and continues the struggle to keep it there. If he's to be sold, the bidder might as well see the battle they're about to embark on.

He will not be an easy conquest.


	2. Chapter One

**(Warnings: some violence, sexual references and encounters, harsh language, mentions of slavery, and the twisted use of Supernatural characters for my own writing pleasures. I consider all characters, any season, free game. This is AU and Destiel-centric.)**

**(Obviously, I don't own Supernatural.)**

**(Also, Charlie won't always be like this. She'll be back to her normal self in later chapters, I promise!)**

**Chapter 1**

_Castiel was kneeling, his body bent over a basin of warm, soapy water. A Grounds servant sponged his skin quietly, her bland features expressionless. She had looked at him in fear when he was first brought to the tiled room, but Castiel heard the elderly lady in the doorway behind her promise that he was far too stoned to lash out._

_He was surprised to realize that the servant was human, her pale eyes brighter than any demon's and her backside smooth and featherless. She did her work expertly and carefully, and Castiel knew she was a domestically bred servant. The wild humans in the forests were too formidable to make good working slaves. Like Castiel, they've lived their lives in freedom, and submitting to a Keeper was like being sentenced to death._

_The older demon paced around them, watching curiously. Her skin was loose and fragile from age, and Castiel thought maybe she was of the first generation of human-demon crossbreeds. Her spotted brown wings were longer than most demon's, yet shorter than Castiel's. Her gray eyes still had the illumination of her mixed races. _

_With each new breeding, the attributes of demon-hood were lessened. Their wings were smaller and plainer. Their pale coloring was ashy and trite. Their eyes were dull. The newborn females weren't always presented with a set of wings.  
_

_One day, in the distant future, demons would be no different than humans in bodily features and qualities. Except, of course, less beautiful to look at._

"_Let's get him against the wall," the woman instructed. The servant quickly moved to pull him, staggering, to his feet. She pushed gently against the muscles of Castiel's solid chest, effectively backing him against the warm tiles behind._

"_Mam__?" the servant asked quietly, awaiting further direction._

_The lady moved to the far corner of the baths, opening a cabinet and pulling a small box from the shelves. "Metatron wants us to trim him," she said in response._

_The servant accepted the given box and placed it on the nearby bench to search its contents. Through the drugged haze of Castiel's mind, he knew the women would shear both the hair on his scalp and the patch around his sex. He was not ignorant to his new position. He knew exactly what purpose he'd been sold for._

_The women finished their work quickly, stepping back to inspect his new look with satisfied expressions. Castiel was dragged from the wall and pushed back down to his knees, where the servant sponged more water over his head to rid of the razor-sharp hairs spotting his skin. When his bath ended, the elderly demon left the room in silence. _

_The servant stood back in wait, her eyes cast to the tiles below in well-trained obedience._

_The demon entered again a moment later, Metatron slow on her heels. The burly man instantly sent a harsh tremor of hate down Castiel's spine. He was the Main Keeper of the Grounds. He inspected new captives, insured the success within the Birthing Units, and handled the purchasing and auctioning of all slaves. His thick fists were well acquainted with Castiel's jaw._

_Metatron was stout and hairy, with wings too small for his swollen body and a scent that infiltrated Castiel's nostrils unpleasantly. The demon always smelt like he ate something sour, and his sweat-drenched pores were desperately trying to expel his body of the putrid matter. Apparently, it was a losing battle._

"_He's finished?" Metatron asked._

_The she-demon nodded. "He's been bathed and trimmed, though we received special instructions not to clip his wings."_

_Metatron seemed surprised at that news. He sucked his spongy cheeks inward as he pondered it. "Hannah's a fool to leave them... but it's her choice in the end, I suppose. How long ago was he administered the narcotic?" He pointed to Castiel._

"_An hour ago," she replied quickly. "We gave him a larger dose than usual. He was rather... uncooperative... after the auctions."_

_Castiel blew out an angry breath. He hated being talked about like an object. Like an animal. _

I am a First-Born_, he wanted to yell, _I am not a trinket to be sold for pleasure.

_The thick quantity of sedatives in his blood left him compliant and silent, however. He couldn't manage much more than a blank stare and the occasional blink. Metatron was moving about the room, much like the elder demon had earlier, and Castiel couldn't even lift his eyes to meet his dark gaze defiantly. _

_Castiel's face was suddenly pulled upward, and the sausage-like fingers of Metatron's right hand gripped his cheeks painfully. His chin was yanked further, and the dirty digits of the rancid demon parted his lips to scrutinize his teeth. Castiel breathed heavily, angrily, as the short fingers pressed sharply into his gums, forcing Castiel's long incisors to grow under Metatron's silent observation. He was surprised when he tried to snarl, and a low growl actually managed to crawl from his dry throat._

_Metatron dropped his chin quickly with the feral sound, and took one careful step backward. His eyes narrowed. "How large of a dose was he given?"_

_The she-demon seemed exasperated by Castiel's actions. She stared at Castiel with wide, confused eyes. "If I gave him any more, it might kill him. At the very least, he would be comatose."_

_The Main Keeper snorted in wonderment. He stared down at Castiel's tranquilized position for a long moment. "Hannah will have her hands full with this one..." He frowned. "I shouldn't have auctioned him. I should have put a set price over his head and waited. We could have made more."_

_The elderly demon rubbed her hands together. She shook her head, if only to appease the Grounds' Main Keeper, and then tilted it so she could look directly to Metatron. "There was no way to know how quickly he would sell. His color is exquisite, yes, but only a limited number of the wealthy are interested in the type of danger a rogue like this would present."_

"_Sir?" Another servant entered the room, effectively quieting their discussion._

_Metatron looked up, seeming annoyed. "What is it?"_

"_Guards from the Caroline house are here for the transport." The servant gestured loosely to Castiel. Metatron nodded, and the servant departed without further instruction. He was replaced several minutes later by three large demons._

"_Gadreel," Metatron greeted the first of them with some familiarity. "How nice to see you again. I must say, I'm a little shocked that Hannah would buy any of our stock at all. I thought it was... beneath her." He curled his words with a subtle smirk, and Castiel didn't know if he meant to be humorous or cruel with them._

_The guard, Gadreel, remained stoic in response. His brown eyes briefly scanned Castiel's sedated posture, as if searching for trouble or wondering if the coming transport would be difficult. He finally looked back to Metatron. "Hannah is quite taken with the slave." Flatly._

_Metatron cocked his head. "Will she breed him out? She could make a lot of money with his exotic color."_

_Gadreel's jaw twitched. Castiel could see the guard's own distaste for the Grounds Keeper. "Hannah's plans are unbeknownst to me. I'm only here to bring the slave back to the House." His words held a note of finality. He made it very clear that the conversation was over. Metatron would not pry any answers from the loyal guard today._

"_Right," Metatron said. "Well, he's been narcotized recently. He should be pliant for the trip."_

_Gadreel nodded and gestured to his companions. The other two guards drifted behind Castiel without a word, and he felt the pull of cold chains wrapping his wrists behind his back. Thick cords bound his chest and arms. They dragged Castiel to his feet, surprisingly gentle, and then Gadreel was leading them from the tiled room._

_The bare halls of the Caging Grounds were long and winding, and he was too out of it to trace their path. There was an excited buzz of voices littering the final room they entered, and a sea of intrigued, wealthy faces watched as their quartet crossed the threshold to the expansive Gathering Hall. Above the demon's heads, attached smoothly to the wall, Castiel saw a flat screen. It cast a bright, blueish glow across the heads of the crowd._

_He was shocked to see his own face gracing the screen. Images of him drugged, chained, and awaiting his fate in the Auction Hall. The words beneath the picture said 'Exotic Rogue Sold to Caroline House.'_

_Castiel knew the pods held television reports frequently, but he'd never seen one, and he had no idea what they showed. It was quite an awe to him to think that his own enslavement and purchase was worthy of broadcasting to the entire city._

_As they spanned the cavernous room, the hum of voices didn't die, but instead grew louder. Gadreel kept the curious onlookers at bay with a simple, hostile look. Before exiting the building completely, the head guard turned to examine Castiel's weary expression. He stood there, unmoving and unblinking, for a long moment. Finally, he looked to his companions. "Cover his face."_

_X_

"Eat," a servant says gently, pushing a bland bowl of oatmeal across the floor to where Castiel is lounging on his bed roll. The servant seems flustered, and she distractedly plays with the long bangs of her hair. "Our Keeper insists."

Castiel snorts and looks away from the bowl in distaste. He has no interest in the mushy meal.

The servant sighs and leaves the room. She shuts the heavy door behind her quickly, leaving Castiel alone in his dreary room once again.

He's been in this house for close to six months and has only left his solitary room three times. The last time he'd been let out he snapped his teeth at Hannah, the house Keeper, and was promptly escorted back by Gadreel, the head guard.

Castiel presses his lips thin and traces the dull pattern of the ceiling with a sad familiarity. His life is routine here. He's fed breakfast just after dawn, bathed after in the corner by a slave and a sponge, brought lunch at mid afternoon, checked on by one of the house guards, settled with supper after night fall, and then checked on once again before the entire house retires to bed.

He can feel his once active mind slowing to the passive beat of depressive boredom.

The door pops open again, and Castiel sees the long silky skirts before he sees the face. There's one occasional disruption to his days, and it's something Castiel could easily do without.

_Charlie._

"Heidi says you won't eat." Emphatically.

Castiel twists on his bed roll so that he can gaze lazily over his shoulder. The woman in the doorway is dressed richly, as always. Her hair is curled expertly and piled high on her head. Castiel can see the long, sculpted points of her painted fingernails. He sighs.

"Tell me, do you think starving yourself will grant you freedom?" She smirks, her red delineated lips twisting almost cruelly.

"I'm not interested in the soggy oats," Castiel says simply.

Charlie studies him for a long moment, her common brown eyes slowly rolling up and down his body. She is the wife of Edgar, Hannah's younger brother, yet she acts like a young child bent on playing enemy to all who will rise to the bait. With nothing but her appurtenant boredom to bother with, she often looks for new entertainments. Castiel figures she imagines _herself_ as the self-appointed Master of the house when she's at her worst.

When Charlie finally speaks, her words are crude and brash.

"So... has Hannah asked you to fuck her yet?"

Castiel startles with the question, sitting up so that he can face her fully. Her expression is genuinely interested in his answer, though it flashes occasionally with unbridled resentment. She seems unaware that Castiel can read the unvarnished curiosity there.

"I..." He chooses his words carefully. Hannah hasn't touched him yet, as Castiel is far too dangerous to be approached like that. He knows, internally, that his solitary confinement is meant to break him down. To make him docile.

And it's working.

He'd been angry and violent his first months. He lashed out at Gadreel several times, and nearly sank his teeth in to the soft flesh of Hannah's arm when she walked too close. The guards shortened his chains and stopped escorting him around the house immediately after, forcing endless days of apathy in this brick-walled, windowless room. Castiel is nearly ready to submit, if only they would just let him walk or _move_.

"I think you know the answer to that," he says.

Charlie frowns, and for the first time Castiel can see how young she truly is; probably just passed the crest of her nineteenth year.

It's far too young, even as a daughter of the wealthy, to be traded as a wife to another. It's regretful that his kin treat women with the same ignorant disregard that humanity managed to overcome centuries ago. Hannah is the exception, as she is the eldest child of her family.

"She will, won't she? How does it feel to have your life reduced to nothing but chains and Hannah's bed?" Charlie's words are meant to be hurtful, but they sound callow as they pass her lips. Castiel isn't affected.

"You tell me," he replies quickly. "Is your life not condensed to the same shallow endurance?"

Charlie's expression falters, and her eyes grow slightly wider. As he watches his words hit home in her cold, but young, heart, he instantly regrets them. She likely had no say in her marriage, nor given a chance to meet Edgar before their wedding day. Castiel has seen very little of Edgar since his arrival, but it doesn't take many encounters to know that the demon rarely speaks around the constant scowl plastering his face.

Her mouth slowly opens, as if she wants to argue, but she's cut off by the door opening again. Gadreel's large frame appears in the entry. His eyes flit back and forth between Charlie and Castiel. "Is there a problem?"

Charlie regains her perfectly prim demeanor quickly. She smiles, though it's comparable to the deadliness of a serpent's grin. She looks up at Gadreel. "Not at all, Gadreel. I was just providing the slave some company."

The guard seems skeptical, but he doesn't voice it. He simply adjusts his stance. "Hannah is coming this way within the hour. You should probably find new company."

The young demon cocks her head, letting her outlandish smile widen further. "Of course." She departs from the room a moment later, flashing Castiel a pouting look over her shoulder as she goes. It makes him feel sorry for the young girl.

Gadreel waits for the flow of her skirts to disappear around the corner before he heaves a sigh and looks to Castiel. He doesn't say anything at first, just examines Castiel's position on the rumpled bed roll. He's quite harmless for a sentinel, Castiel thinks. Unlike the Caging guards, he doesn't use the sharp knuckles of a fist to force cooperation. He obtains it with simple, efficient fingers in pressure points, and a firm, demanding grip. He was trained for his position well as a youth.

"The Keeper is coming to speak with you today." Gadreel rubs his temples slowly, as if to ward off a coming headache. Castiel finds himself wondering how much trouble and stress he's brought to the young demon's life with his sudden appearance here. "Can I trust you to keep your hands and your teeth to yourself?"

Castiel swallows and meets the guard's gaze. "Yes," he says, without putting much thought to the question. Perhaps if he concurs, he will be met with less restrictions.

Gadreel nods. His dark eyes fall silently on the doorway, see its emptiness, and then return to Castiel. He reaches to grab one of the wooden chairs in the corner and pulls it forward. After he's settled and gone quiet for an oddly long time, he speaks again. "I know this is hard for you, Castiel. You're a rogue. A _First-Born_..." He rubs his chin absently. "You weren't born to serve like the rest of us. You know what it's like to be free and uninhibited."

Castiel sits, unmoving, as he listens. He's never heard the guard speak this much or this freely.

"But unfortunately that time is over," Gadreel continues. "You belong to a Keeper now. You're new purpose is to service and obey Hannah."

"You mean service and obey her in bed," Castiel says. He feels childish with his complaint.

Gadreel frowns. "I mean in whatever way Hannah wishes. You might not realize this, Castiel, but you've gotten lucky. I've heard stories of the way Keepers break and treat their bed slaves. Their forced obedience is painful and frightfully cruel. But Hannah is..." The guard swallows, letting his eyes glance to the doorway once again. "Hannah is kind. She's a good Master. If you treat her respectfully, she'll do the same to you."

Castiel scoffs. "I am not a cur to adhere to a hand that feeds."

"No, you're not," he agrees. "But if you feign that same type of loyalty, life in this house will be much more pleasant for you. Hannah is taken with your looks... your defiance... she'd dote on you if you submitted."

"Would she grant me my freedom again?" Castiel asks darkly.

Gadreel's silence is answer enough.

With the door left open, Castiel can finally hear the movements of the rest of the house. His ears twitch with the sound of soft footsteps on the wooden floor of the hallway, and he knows it's Hannah approaching.

"Just consider it, Castiel. Hannah is born from a different society than you are. She's exceptionally fair for a demon of her status," Gadreel whispers quickly before climbing to his feet. He bows his head as the House Keeper enters the small room, and Hannah smiles at him, genuinely, before looking at Castiel. Her hair is incredibly dark for a common demon; her eyes are unusually light. Her pale face is graced with beautiful, high cheek bones, and her lips are thin and pink.

She's a fairly pretty demon, Castiel thinks. Though, she's no where near the bright-haired beauty of Samandriel.

Hannah occupies the chair that Gadreel recently vacated, tugging gently on the thighs of her silk pants so that they cover her delicate ankles. She inspects Castiel for a long minute before looking back at Gadreel again. "May we extend the links of his leash, Gadreel? I think Castiel looks highly uncomfortable under the short length."

Gadreel nods obediently and moves to follow the command. Castiel is relieved when the pressure on his neck is slightly alleviated.

"I think I've made a mistake in leaving you to rot in this room," Hannah begins thoughtfully. "I thought, perhaps, that if I left you alone for long enough you might become calmer. However, Heidi tells me you've hardly been eating. I can even see some muscle loss on your body..." She trails off, her light eyes casting to the floor in thought.

Castiel shifts subtly, waiting for her to continue.

"I'd like to talk with you, if you'll indulge me. You're a First-Born, and that's something extraordinarily rare. Tell me, what was it like in our ancestral home of Hell?" She looks back up.

Castiel blinks, confused, before he realizes that Hannah has asked him a question. This is not the direction he thought the conversation would take. "I–" He glances sharply to Gadreel, who nods sternly in encouragement. "I don't remember much. My life on Earth has limited my memories of Hell."

Hannah grins suddenly, her features brightening with a look akin to affection. Castiel has no idea what has brought the look forth.

"Your voice is... gruff. Deeper than I expected. I've never been given the chance to hear it before now," Hannah explains. Castiel recognizes that the statement is true. "Heidi tells me that you talk with Charlie now and again, and I'll admit... I was a little jealous."

He must make an atrocious face at the mention of the other woman, because Hannah laughs. "I can see now that I have nothing to worry about. My sister-in-law can be quite forward and unashamed, I know. Edgar leaves her alone too much, and I'm afraid it makes her feel neglected.

"She's... young. And spoiled. Her future holds many possibilities still." Castiel finds himself defending the young woman. He licks his dry lips before continuing. "She'll grow to be a strong woman."

Hannah is still smiling, and she cocks his head to the side. "I'm glad that you can see the beauty in her. I'm sorry to say that the rest of us aren't quite as confident in her foul personality." She straightens in her chair and makes an abrupt change in subject. "Metatron tells me they found you in the eastern woods in early summer. I haven't, myself, spent much time outside the pod walls. It's beautiful out there, in nature?"

Castiel blinks stupidly. What an odd question. "Of course. Earth's features are striking and ever changing."

"Do you miss it?"

"Every moment," Castiel retorts, letting the bitterness of his imprisonment seep in to his words.

Hannah grimaces, as if struck, and presses her lips together. As the room falls silent, her nimble fingers toy with the draw strings of her pants. Castiel wonders why the she-demon doesn't wear the same long skirts as the other pod females.

"I'm sorry," the Keeper suddenly whispers quietly. Her light eyes shine with the truthfulness of her words, and she moves to stand. "I hope that..." She crosses the short space between them, seeming unafraid of Castiel's strength and new found leash length. "We can become _friends_, possibly, in the near future. I find myself very fond of you, Castiel. I would very much like to be companions."

Castiel is distracted by the last word, his mind falling blank. Hannah approaches him in confidence, and lets a warm hand fall on Castiel's bare shoulder. Her soft fingers knead the muscles there, causing a small and appreciative groan to loosen from Castiel's throat, and then gradually move around the back of his neck. The Keeper pauses there, awaiting Castiel's reaction. When Castiel does nothing, Hannah leans forward to press a soft and unexpected kiss to the top of his head. She stands back, watches Castiel's frozen face for a short moment, and then leaves the room.

Gadreel clears his throat a moment later, looking uncharacteristically harried, and then follows his Master from the room. The door is once again pulled shut behind him, closing Castiel off from the welcomed sounds of the house. He stares at the wood for several minutes in wonderment.

"Companions..." He repeats the word occupying his mind. It doesn't leave him as concerned as it might have several months ago. What does that word entail? What could it grant him?

_Companions_.


End file.
